


Inevitable

by whoknowswhy99



Category: Justified
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoknowswhy99/pseuds/whoknowswhy99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A character study of Winona Hawkins in Season 1 and 2 from Hatless through ??</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_  
Inevitable   
_

 

 

The first night after Raylan saves his ass, she tells Gary she has a headache.  It’s not a lie, really.  All the tension from the last few days seems to have settled behind her eyes and every time she closes them all she sees is the resignation and regret etched on Raylan’s face as he pulled away from the curb when he dropped Gary off.

 

The second night after, Gary has three glasses of wine with dinner ( _never mind that she poured them_ ) and is snoring on the couch by nine.  She pretends to be asleep when he finally comes upstairs to bed.

 

The night after that she picks a fight ( _all she has to do is mention Raylan)_ and then she gets her period and then work gets crazy for both of them.  She’s managed to avoid sex with her husband for almost three weeks.

 

It has nothing to do with her _ex_ -husband.  At least that’s what she tells herself.  She almost believes it until the night Gary turns over in bed and she can’t put him off any longer.  She doesn’t even try to stop the images flowing through her mind of another man’s hands on her and another mouth tracing the curve of her jaw as Gary works away.  She has to bite her lip so hard it bleeds to keep from moaning out Raylan’s name when she finally comes.

 

Afterwards, while Gary sleeps, she creeps downstairs and pours herself a drink.  Fortified, she goes to the hall closet and pulls the box down from the top shelf.  She lifts things out, one by one, stacking them on the floor, until she finds what she’s looking for.  Leaving the box there, she lugs the two photo albums back to the couch and starts flipping through.  The pages stick together, pressed by the weight of years and all the other memories piled on top of them.  There aren’t a lot of candid shots.  Raylan hated getting his picture taken and avoided it whenever possible.  Still, in six years, there are a few good photos of them together.  They looked happy.  They had been happy, she remembers, for a while, anyway.

 

She pours another glass of bourbon and pulls out the second album.  As she lifts the cover, a paper slips out.  She turns it over.  It’s gray and murky and faded after almost ten years.  Still, if she squints, she can see the shadow of the baby.  That’s all that baby ever was… a shadow.  And the loss of it, among other things, cast a shadow over them.  She swallows down the rest of the whiskey, relishing the burn that brings tears to her eyes. Telling herself that’s the only reason she’s crying.

 

Damn it. She doesn’t do this. This is sentimental crap and she’s _not_ sentimental ( _in fact, more than once she’s been accused of being cold.)_ She’s practical and purposeful and this wallowing in the past serves no purpose. She slams the album shut and takes them both back to the hall, stuffing them into the box, shoving it back onto the top shelf where it belongs.  She starts up the stairs, but the thought of crawling into bed next to Gary just makes her sad.  So she wraps herself in the afghan and lies down on the couch.  She flicks on the television hoping for a distraction from her thoughts, but there’s nothing on that captures her interest.  She reaches for a magazine then tosses it on the floor, picks up her cell phone and flips it open.  She scrolls through contacts until she comes to the one she’s looking for.  She stares at the number. Hand shaking, she presses the buttons and waits. 

 

“Hello?”  His voice is raspy from sleep.  “Winona?  Is something wrong?”

 

Cell phones and caller i.d. have changed everything.  No more middle of the night calls just to hear someone’s voice.  The person on the other end always knows who’s calling.  Her impulse is to hang up, to tell him when he calls back, as she knows he will, that she must have dialed by accident.  ( _How silly is that?_ )

 

“Winona?”  He says again.  “You there?”

 

She swallows hard and steadies her voice. “I just…I can’t sleep and I wanted to thank you again for what you did.  I know…well…I know it couldn’t have been easy, helping Gary like that.”

 

He doesn’t bother to deny it.  “I’m glad I could help.” He’s more awake now. “You sure everything’s okay?”  The concern in his voice makes her ache.

 

She doesn’t speak and the silence that fills the space between them gives its own answer.  “Everything’s fine.” She says finally.  “Sorry I woke you.  Goodnight, Raylan.”

 

“G’night.”  He sounds skeptical and she knows his lawman’s mind is going to be working overtime trying to figure this out.  She wonders if that’s why she called.

 

She isn’t proud of herself the next day, or the days that follow.  She knows how to be a bitch, and she’s exactly that to Gary whenever she has the chance.  She cuts him short, puts him off, says things she would’ve bitten back before.  It’s true that he’s making it easy by being an ass, but that really isn’t an excuse.  Everything that attracted her to him at first, his openness, his exuberance, his eagerness to please, suddenly seems smarmy. She knows she’s pulling away, looking at him as if he’s already in the past, and he doesn’t even realize it. 

 

She avoids Raylan in the courthouse, but at night she drives by the motel to see if his car is there. If the light is on in his room, her heart pounds and her hands tense on the wheel.  She has to force herself to push the gas pedal and drive on. The motel isn’t on her way home.  It isn’t on the way anywhere.

 

When she finally does run into him accidently on purpose, ( _hanging around the courthouse elevators you’re bound to run into him at some point)_ she makes up a silly excuse about losing her hairclip just to have a conversation with him. ( _Really, Winona, she thinks, you couldn’t be more creative than that?)_ Then she thanks him _again,_ like an idiot, and questions if he’s _really_ glad that things turned out so well with Gary.  She walks away embarrassed and unsatisfied ( _Come on, how did you expect that conversation to go?)_. He stares after her, baffled.

 

She can’t sleep.  She doesn’t eat. She’s a mess. But, she’s always been good at hiding that.  So when Raylan shows up with that Ava woman ( _who he’s not seeing anymore)_ drunk and handcuffed and asks if she can stay the night, Winona’s able to say ‘yes’ and help him out and do it with her usual efficiency.  She knows he’s grateful.  That it’s apparently the last straw for Gary is just fine with her.  In fact, it’s a relief when he walks out.

 

Later that night she drives by the motel again.  This time though, there’s no Gary waiting at home to ask where she’s been.  There’s nothing but her conscience and a thin gold band to keep her from pulling into the parking lot, walking up, knocking on the door.  As it turns out, her conscience is no help at all. Still, she sits in her car for ten good minutes before she makes that walk. 

 

When he answers the door ( _after he puts the gun down_ ), he’s all concern and questions. (“ _Is everything alright?”_ _“Somethin’ wrong with Gary?”)_ Then she slips the ring from her finger and lays it on the dresser. After that, he’s just confused. She leans in and kisses him, then backs up and waits, watching everything play across his face.  She doesn’t have to wait long. His hand grasps her waist and pulls her in for another, deeper kiss.  She pulls away again, meeting his gaze, wanting to know they’re both sure about this, but it’s inevitable.  It’s been inevitable since he came back to Kentucky; since the night he showed up at the house.  Hell, maybe it’s always been inevitable. They can’t get each other’s clothes off fast enough.

 

They don’t speak. Words are what get them into trouble.  What works, ( _what’s always worked_ ) what she’s ached for, is this. He _knows_ her. They _know_ each other. Each kiss, each stroke of fingers or tongue ignites a memory. She breathes him in and it’s intoxicating.  She’s drunk on his scent; _their_ scent. She buries her face in his hair as his mouth kneads her breast, hooks one leg over his back and pulls him closer, arching up.   He raises his head, eyes wide, holding her gaze as he pushes in, filling her.

 

She can’t stop looking at him. She’s not lost inside her own head, ( _like she always is with Gary_ ) but here, in this moment, face to face, every inch of their bodies touching.  Her hands slide down his back, nails digging in as he pulses inside her.  His breath is ragged and hot on her neck and he groans as she shifts her hips, changing the rhythm.  It’s all familiar and alien at the same time.  Her tongue traces a new scar on his shoulder and she wonders about it even as his fingers find her like always, stroking, urging her on.  She gasps but holds back.  ( _Stop. Please. Not yet._ ) She doesn’t want this to end. But her body betrays her in a flash of heat and she cries out as he shudders in response.

 

She gazes down on him, letting her hair fall like a curtain, shutting out the drab motel room, the unforgiving state of Kentucky, and the rest of the world.   They smile.  Then, just like he used to, he pushes a lock of hair behind her ear.  That breaks the spell.

 

She gathers the sheet around her and eases up, reaching for her clothing.  She dresses, stepping into her shoes, wrapping the coat around her tightly, stuffing her bra and panties in her pocket like some spent sorority girl.  She picks the ring up off the dresser and forces it back on her finger. She’s not sure why she bothers.  She turns at the door, tries to say with a look what she can’t say with words.  He smiles that crooked smile and she knows it’s okay…for now, anyway.

 


	2. Once More With Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both thought it was a one time thing. Turns out, they were wrong.

 

Three days.  She checks her cell-phone far more often than usual, and even asks the clerk if there are any messages.  Raylan doesn’t call.  Maybe he isn’t going to call.  Maybe she made a huge mistake.

 

She’s in Reardon’s court today, so at least she’s being entertained.  But her mind isn’t really on the proceedings.  Instead, unable to stop thinking about Raylan, she crosses and uncrosses her legs, seesawing between flashes of desire that flush her cheeks and sheer dread that makes her stomach drop. When the judge asks her to read back some testimony, she uncharacteristically stammers until she finds her place.  Reardon raises a bushy eyebrow and she sits up straighter and forces herself to concentrate.

 

She gathers her files at the end of the session and puts them in her office.  She glances at the clock and her gym bag.  Maybe she’ll work out before she goes home, burn off some of this anxiety.  The gym is crowded and she drives aimlessly around the lot looking for a parking place.  After a few moments a blue pick-up pulls out and she gives them a wave of thanks.  Just as she’s pulling in, the phone rings.  She glances at the screen and sighs.  Finally.

 

Her intention is to talk. She thinks that’s his intention too.  But that’s not what happens.  Oh, they talk, but it’s just bantering, ( _How was work_? _Exhilarating._ _Nice ambiance.  I pay extra for that._ )  She questions the suitability of the meeting place and he says he’s tired, but it turns out, he’s not.

 

It isn’t like the other night.  This is frantic and raw.  This is deliberate and driven.  They aren’t gentle.  She’ll have marks from his fingers on her hips and she breaks skin when she nips at his shoulder. He pounds into her and she welcomes it, wrapping her legs tighter around him, digging her heel into the small of his back.  They’re breathless and sweaty and he kicks the sheet away with one foot as his teeth graze her nipple and she comes, moaning his name.  He thrusts again and finishes, rolling off.  ( _Sonofabitch.  Yeah, that’s what a girl wants to hear for pillowtalk.  Regret.)_

His phone rings.  She isn’t surprised that he answers.  The conversation is short, but after he hangs up, he stays sitting on the side of the bed, his back to her, head down.  She places one palm flat on his back, and he turns his head to look at her.  There’s a question in his eyes she doesn’t have an answer for.

 

She doesn’t want to leave. There's nowhere else she wants to be.  The thought of the empty house full of _things_ she thought were important makes her feel sad and small.  She pulls the sheet up around her shoulders and closes her eyes. 

 

The bed shifts as he stands, and she hears the clink of ice in a glass.  He settles beside her again and his hand strokes her hair.  She peers through her lashes and watches him swallow the whiskey.  Wordlessly he hands her the glass.  She raises up on one elbow and takes a sip, passing it back.  He knocks back the rest and reaches over to turn out the light.

 

They lie quietly in the darkness. She wonders if he’s asleep.  Then he rolls toward her, and she turns automatically to spoon against him.  He pulls her close and she lets herself drift away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to motorcitymade from the FX board for her encouragement and help. It was invaluable. ;-)


End file.
